Chronicles of the Necro Lord: The Dark Child
by SirNoremac
Summary: Rage, hatred, sorrow, suffering... These are the emotions that have plagued the young Orc since the slaughtering of his village to the ceaseless beatings of his adoptive father. Through the dark flames in his heart, awakens the magiks of Necromancy.
1. The Hunt

This will be my first story on . I've been cooking this plot line for awhile and I've only recently put the full first chapter into words. Constructive criticism is requested since I plan to turn this story into a full book and series in the future. With the help of some of my fellow writers and WoW fans, I hope to make this book even better! Setting takes place several decades before the corruption of the Horde (about when Grom Hellscream was born) on Draenor.

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Words from the Death Weaver**_

_I have many names… The Necro Lord, The Dark One, Master of the Ancient Dead, Lord of Duskwood, The Weaver of Death, Bearer of a Thousand Souls… All of them signify my power, my malice, my lordship and dominion over others, but my true name, the one that was given to me as a child which strikes blind terror and dread into the very souls of my enemies, is Gro'chal. This is the tale of my journey to power, a journey filled with rage, hatred, sorrow and suffering, from a broken child with a shattered mind and spirit to an omnipotent demigod. I am Gro'chal Deathweaver, and this is my story…_

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Chapter One: The Hunt**

Today was a blessing from the elements. The rolling plains of Nagrand were filled with the young spirited Talbuk, the majestic Elek, and the occasional barbaric ogre to test our prowess, cunning, and strength. The ground was adorned with morning dew and the wind gently rustled the leaves on the ancient and green-fleshed trees alike. A horn of deep resonance echoed across the valley. Today was the Great Hunt.

In the distance, following the horn, sat a humble village. The buildings were mere tents, made from animal skins, sticks, and reeds. Some of the tents were larger than others, most likely to house larger families. Around the village the people were busy cooking meat, sowing clothing out of leather and grass, and doing general work. Women were nursing their young, children were playing, and the men were getting ready for the hunt.

The people, if you could call them that, were not human. No, it would be a generation or two before they would encounter mankind and their long-nosed steeds. They were large and muscular, about two to three times the size of scrawny little humans, but just about one to two feet taller. Their skin was an earthy brown, though some were more sandy toned. These were Orcs, the noble, tribal, honor-bound Orc, complete with two tusks on their lower jaw.

The men were strapping their thin tribal leather armor to their bestial chests, thighs, and defined biceps, and applied black war paint to their faces, made from water and dried lion's blood. Each of them located a primitive axe or spear that was made of strong wood and viscous stone. One of them held an axe with intimidating vulture feathers mounted on top. He also had a skull painted on his chest plate, marking him as the chieftain, the leader of the village and clan. This Orc was also leading the hunting party.

They strode with anticipation toward the feral looking riding wolves; they in turn wagged their tails happily as the mounted. The Chieftain blew the horn twice to signal the departure. Then they rode off to the west, toward ogre territory and the Blades Edge Mountains. Late morning turned into early afternoon and the Draenorian sun began to set. One of the men spoke, stopping his wolf and gazing over toward the sinking fiery orb in the sky.

"Chieftain Grall, we've been riding for hours and haven't found anything, not even a Talbuk!" said the rider.

"Yes, this is very strange. Not even a bird or a rabbit, as if some shadow of Death has frightened them away. I feel a chill in the air…" replied Grall, sniffing the air, "Fan out! You three ride your wolves out one hundred yards in each direction, scout the surrounding area! Dul'gan, run up to the top of that hill, tell me if you see anything!"

Three of the riders took off with the haste of the mighty winds as ordered. Another Orc, slender in stature but well built took off running like a Talbuk being chased by a cougar toward a tall hill to examine the surrounding lands.

An elderly Orc, wearing a cloth robe and carrying a wooden staff walked up to Grall. He wore a stern face full of wisdom. His staff, which rested in his right hand, bore five feathers. A red one symbolized the fierce Spirit of Fire, while a blue one represented the life-giving Spirit of Water. There was also a white one that reflected the free Spirit of the Wind and a yellow for the strong Spirit of Earth. Finally the last one, a green feather that lay separate from the rest, gave homage to the noble Spirit of the Wilds. Eyes clouded with many years of wisdom looked out over the horizon, as if they saw something that only they could.

"I sense a great veil of shadow descending upon the land to the north. Some Great Evil has awakened deep within the darkness of the Bladesedge Mountains. The Elements cry out in agony, disgust, and despair." said the Orc, with depression showing through his cloudy eyes.

"Then let us find this evil, and destroy it! Or shut it away again!" growled Grall in reply.

"Chieftain! Black smoke rises from the north, from the Bladesedge Mountains!" cried Dul'gan from atop the hill.

"Well, our feelings were correct," replied Grall, "Let's move out!" Putting his rough brown lips to the horn gave it three short bursts and a long one.

The remounted and rode north. The others soon came to the location, called by the horn blasts, and followed in their direction. Onward the riders went, their wolves smelling out the foul scent of Death. The hunters rode the ferocious canine steeds with a stature of confidence and a gleam in their eyes, ready for battle.

Coming to the foothills of the mountain range, Grall looked up at the mountains. The sides went up at near vertical angles; some made a curve at the middle to the side. Peaks soared into the sky and ended in razor sharp points. Powerful constant gales pushed against the weathered mountains. Mighty winged beasts, both feathered and scaled, lay impaled on a few of the peaks. These were the Bladesedge Mountains, as harsh terrain as the monstrous Ogres that called it "home." To the east was the Zangarmarsh, where towering mushroom grew around its murky waters. Sporelings, sentient creatures born from the land, and the fungal Swamp Giants roamed the ancient land. West of the mountains lay the calm sea; stretching far beyond any Orc could hope to see.

Between two mountains Grall saw a wide canyon and path that was probably made by the barbarous Ogres. He and the riders journeyed toward the gap with the razor sharp mountains towering above them. They rode silently, both Orc and Wolf. The men were silent while the great canines' muscles tensed.

"Be on your guard, this is Ogre territory," said Grall. "One of those towering brutes might befall us any second…"

After while they walked past a pile of rocks, but the elderly Orc stopped suddenly and lifted his head, as if listening to an unheard whisper. He looked over at the direction of the rocks.

"There…" he said, pointing his staff at the boulders, "It is coming from there…"

"Dul'gan, check those rocks!" ordered Grall.

Dul'gan dismounted and walked over to the rock formation. He gently ran his strong rough hands over the rocks.

"I feel a breeze!" he called back. His hand slid between two rocks and suddenly it seemed as if the crack had swallowed him whole. As they waited, the last of the sun's rays disappeared over the mountains around them. After what felt like an eternity he remerged. "Grall, there's a thin crevice hidden in the rocks. It's just wide enough for an Orc to squeeze through. I don't know how far it goes, but there's a light breeze!"

"Dismount! Weapons ready, who knows what lies at the end of that passage."

They got off of the wolves and they sat down with a sigh and opened their mouths wide in a yawn. Single file they each disappeared between the rocks, following the cold stench of Death.

The sight that greeted them filled each with questions. They came to a large open area. On the ground lay three large Ogres covered in blood. One of them, a two-headed Ogre magus, was missing one of its heads. Lying beside the Ogres were five mysterious creatures. Their skin was blue, ranging from a light sky blue to a more dark purple. Tendrils came out of their chins and flowed down their chests. They had long lizard-like tails which went down to their feet. Instead of feet, they had hooves like a goat's. In their hands rested great swords and mallets, some had shields plated in gold. The elder Orc spoke.

"So these are the mysterious Draenei. I've only heard rumors of their existence, but I have never seen one until now. They say that they came from the sky in a flying mountain made of pure light… from another world. From other clans I heard that, on occasion, they would visit and trade beautiful gems and incomprehensible devices for our furs. Their language was almost musical compared to our deep and guttural Orcish tongue. They are truly incredible beings."

"Now they lay in the field of battle, bathed in their blue blood," scoffed Dul'gan, "No longer of the living. I guess their pretty magics didn't help them against these brutes. Ha!"

As the ventured down the path, Grall looked at the bodies and thought about how they were positioned. It appeared that the Ogres were trying to guard something or maybe this path… How did they even get in here anyway?

Across the large open space in between the mountains was a shorter corridor. They decided it would lead to where the smoke came from and brave hunters suddenly became nervous as the walls of stone closed in and loomed over them. The path seemed to breathe an eerie atmosphere that was cold and dark, as if some living shadow was now watching them with murderous hunger.

Finally, they came upon an opening to a cave that had a doorway, but it was shattered into five pieces. The frame and door were made of a dark, coal black stone. Each had markings, symbols, and dark runes that were in an unknown tongue, but it had signs of Orcish. All of the symbols showed signs of warnings of shadow, death, darkness, and evil. Whatever wanted in, they _wanted in_, for the shattered door pieces were a good cubit thick. A cold breeze came from the hateful darkness beyond the doorway. The very air seemed to whisper words of sorrow, pain, and rage.

"By the Spirits…" gasped Grall, gazing into the dark passage, "What in the name of the Ancestors happened here? Shaman… do you know what these markings mean?"

The old Orc stepped forward and knelt down next to the stones and inspected each of the pieces with thoroughness, guided by the Spirit of Earth. He ran his wrinkled and scarred fingers along the runes, tracing every crevice and detail with care. At last he let out a sigh.

"This place is very cold, the spirits are silent. If I could see, my eyes would weep… Long have I lived by the phrase learned by every shaman, 'Everything that is, is alive,' but this stone – puts that to folly," he looked back to his chieftain and gave him a look full of worry and sorrow, "This stone is dead."

They stood around the shattered doorway, afraid, Afraid of what this door kept out – or what it kept in. Grall stood with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched while Dul'gan gripped his axe tightly. The shaman stood walked over to their leader.

"Chieftain Grallosh, these markings have no meaning to me. I am unfamiliar with this dialect of Orcish… but I feel the stone that was carved for them cry out the words in agony. I feel no breath in it, no life, only whispers. This stone is dead, yet cries out wordless warnings. They are warnings of death, of shadow, pain, and rage. They cry out 'Those who dare pass through the Gate of Death must suffer meeting its maker, the Weaver of Death. Turn back, for Shadow dwells here, and Darkness is its guardian.'"

"It looks like someone has ignored that warning, and did not fear the darkness," Grall gazed into the shadowy, cold passage, and then strode in with a reckless bravery, "And neither will I…"

The others stared blankly into the darkness, trying to comprehend what their leader just did. With fearful hesitation they followed their chieftain. The shaman muttered something about an irresponsible fool.

They came out of the cave to find the ruins of a village. Several of the huts were burning or crumbled in a heap. Corpses littered the ground, Draenei, skeletons, and Orcs. The Orcs wore black clothing from head to toe and appeared to have ash on their faces and hands for a war paint. Their eyes though, were very peculiar… The eyes of each of the fallen Orcs were a glossy black, like two polished onyx stones placed into a cold deathly statue.

Not a single person was spared by the Draenei. Men, women, and children were all slaughtered violently. The skeletons that littered the ground seemed old and long deceased. It is said that Draenei were peaceful and good hearted beings. They would have to have a good reason to bring genocide to an entire village and defile their dead…

The group followed the chaos, destruction, and death. Soon they came to a flight of black steps that led to a large building. It stood like a dark overlord over a poisoned land. Great pillars once rested along the path, but most were knocked down and broken. Statues had stood on top of them of great Orcs clad in dark robes. They were made of onyx while their eyes were sapphires, which seemed to glow faintly. Each of them was a bit different except for what they held in their hands: A long black staff with blue and black runes across the shaft. On the bottom was a sharp tip like a spear. The top had a skull of a small horned creature with razor sharp teeth. Small sapphires filled the empty sockets of the skull.

Forward they went, following the destruction and vandalism of what looked to be sacred ground to this clan of Orcs. Finally they reached the doorway of the large building and gazed up the enormous pitch black walls. The door appeared to once be made out of a thick, heavy, and strong wood, but now lay on the ground in splinters; its hinges shattered. One of the stone pillars that were along the path lay perpendicular to the door.

Stepping through the doorway they found themselves in a courtyard. Even more bodies lay strewn everywhere, both Orcish and Draenic. Several of the Orcs here were dressed in dark robes and had the image of a skull painted on their faces. In the center of the courtyard lay a large stone slab elevated of the ground with smaller flat rocks. Surrounding it were several skulls, ribs, and limb bones of both Orcish and Draenic ownership. On top of this table of sorts were the remains of a slain Talbuk. Its hooves were hogtied and its throat slit. Flies swarmed over the carcass and corpses around it. Lying next to this altar face down was a robed Orc carrying a black-bladed dagger. A white spear protruded from his back.

"Dul'gan, check that one." said Grall, gesturing to the dead priest.

Dul'gan dashed over to the robed Orc and knelt down next to the corpse. He lifted his large hand up to where the spear had entered the body and pulled apart the cloth. After examining the wound he called back to Grall.

"Chieftain, the spear severed the Orc's spine. There are burn marks around the entry point!"

They continued on to the other side of the courtyard, trying to ignore the stench of the fly infested corpses. Again the found the shattered remains of a thick wood door, yet not as small the first. Beyond this door lay the inner chambers of this temple-fortress.

Even more bodies were scattered about this smaller room than the entire courtyard. However, none of them were Orcs… Draenei, at least twenty of them, dressed in thick plate armor leaned against the walls and lay mangled on the floor. Some were burnt to a crisp beyond recognition, creating a vile stench, while others had large gashes and holes in their armor. Blue blood covered the smooth polished floor. On the far side of the room leaned a single Orc…

The wall he leaned against bore an enormous symbol on it. A black skull with razor sharp teeth and fixed into a dark grin, engulfed in flames, was emblazoned with great detail on the smooth bricks. In the Orc's right hand rested a black staff with a smooth deep purple sphere mounted on the top. Like a freshly forged axe head being thrown into a bucket of water the sphere smoked. A spiked mal hung loosely in his left hand. Four white spears were stuck in his torso and his limbs were covered with slash wounds. There was something different about this Orc. It separated him from every other one that Grall saw in this village. This Orc… was still breathing.

Slowly, the Orc lifted his head. Even hunched over and leaning against the wall this Orc's head was up to Grall's chest. He was massive, and very strong to take down this many Draenei before finally falling. Underneath his hood was complete darkness, shrouding his face and eyes. In a strange and unknown dialect of Orcish, he spoke in a deep voice that seemed to echo from all sides of the room.

"Nombyt tookrinomve rinim rihiz dewooerrlowad rinim ooverrve…" he gasped, "Tookzapokve tooksehve yboobyt…" he lifted his left arm and shakily pointed over to the next room, which was blockaded with furniture, "Tookzapokve… nombyt hizoonim…"

The last unintelligible word was said with a deep, drawn-out sigh and the head of the Orc fell down. That single sound seemed to echo over and over again in the room. It started as a faint whisper in the ears of the hunters, but slowly grew louder each time until the very foundations of the building shook. A powerful ice cold gale blew past the group, sending them back a few steps. The echo stopped.

They stood there for a long moment, trying to understand in vain what just happened. The Orc was dead and the village was silent, silent as Death.

"Come on…" whispered Grall, everyone jumped at the sound, "Let's go see what's behind that barricade."

After removing the furniture they looked around the room. There was a thick wool rug on the floor along with imprints on the rug where the furniture used to be. Lying in the corner was the mutilated body of an Orc woman. Cuts and gashes covered her body and blood matted her hair and face. On the other side of the room sat a lone cupboard that somehow remained untouched by the Draenei.

They circled around the cupboard, swords and axes out, ready for anything. Dul'gan slowly walked up to the door and gripped the handle. After what seemed to be eternity he bit by bit, little by little, turned the handle. Finally, he jerked open the door, ripping it off its hinges. The shaman gasped and everyone took a step back.

Curled up in the now doorless cupboard, with his head tucked in between his legs, sat a small Orc child. His limbs and body were frail, thin, and shaking. The skin of the child was coal black with a slight blue tint. He lifted his head up to look at the hunters, revealing eyes that gave off a glowing blue light. In a young voice he spoke in the same language the other Orc spoke.

"Dewsegverive rihiz nomootooksegveri? Dewsegverive rihiz ufzatooksehveri?"


	2. Orphaned

Thanks for the great review, Belladelias! Well, here's the second chapter. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated and asked for. You are the intended audience, Warcraft fans, so I need your help to make this story even better!

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Orphaned**

"Where is mother? Where is father?" I said.

As I sat in the small cupboard where father had set me, the strange looking Orcs jumped back when they opened the door, like they had seen a phantom. Their skin was a dark brown compared to my charcoal black. They stared at me as if I had grown a third tusk before their eyes.

It seemed like it was hours since father put me there. He had come home in a panic, like a rapid Elek was chasing him. I saw him scurrying around our home, ignoring my mother's pleas for an explanation of his actions. After grabbing several sacred objects he kept around the house, he saw me sitting on the floor and immediately dropped the things that our tribe held most treasured.

I saw great dread shadowing his face and fear in his glowing blue eyes as he ran over to me. He picked me up and carried me to the other room – my room. After opening the door to the cupboard and setting me inside, he looked at me in the eyes.

"My son," he said in his deep, protective voice, "Promise me that you will not come out of this cupboard. Promise me you will stay hidden!" he was on the verge of tears…

"Yes, papa, I promise." I replied, recognizing the fear in his face.

He closed the door and I heard him lock it. I pressed my ear up against the wood and heard the sound of formed lumber and stone moving along wool and stone. The voices of my parents were raised in argument over something, and I heard my mother start to weep. After that, only cries of rage, agony, and death…

The outsiders started to argue amongst themselves. They whispered, growled, and yelled. Some would glance at me with caution, others with pity, while few glared at me with raw, unprovoked hatred. Suddenly a large one barked in fury, silencing the others. He held a large decorated axe in his hand and bore the image of a black skull on his breast plate.

He stepped forward and knelt down in front of me so we were eye to eye. The strange Orc's gaze drilled a hole straight through my skull and into the wood of the cupboard. I shrank back in fear, clenching the wood with my claws, and a low growl emitted from the recesses of my gullet. The brown lips on his face peeled back, unveiling his sharp teeth and yellow tusks. In a deep voice he spoke to the other ones in their strange language.

One of them strode towards me with a grimace on his face; in his hand was a brown sack. Immediately I reacted and instinctively pushed myself up against the back of the cupboard. I released a viscous roar and, to my surprise, the two closest to me stumbled back in alarm. Their eyes were like those of an Elek seeing the sacrificial knife raised above its head. After a couple of blinks, the one with the sack wiped his face of astonishment and replaced it with a snarl. Again he strode toward me.

I raised my hands to fight my assailant, but his thick arms, that doubled the width of my leg, were too much for my slender young arms. He pinned my limbs down. My father's name escaped my lips. His was followed by my mother's. Finally all there was was blackness, the musty scent of the sack, and my frail body being tossed over the shoulder of a much larger one.

That was the last time I saw my home.

As I bounced on the shoulder of one of the strange Orcs, the scents of burning wood, rotting flesh and the old-meat stench of the sack on my head assailed my nostrils. The smells became unbearable, so I held my breath. However, soon my head felt like it was going to fly away and my lungs were going to burst.

I exhaled slowly and felt the strain ease. Then I began breathing through my mouth to avoid the eye-watering smell of the bag. It was then I noticed that we were going downhill. Why were we heading away from the temple? Why was father letting these outsiders take me away?

After I realized there were taking my away from the village, I began to fight them. I flailed my legs wildly against my carrier's back and twisted in every direction, like a cougar in its death throws. My nails sank into the brown skin of the Orc. That was a mistake.

Suddenly I was falling forwards, and I stretched my arms out to try to catch my fall. I heard the Orc growl after I landed on the ground. A shockwave rippled through my body and my innards twisted and convulsed from the impact. My lungs refused to take a breath and panic reared its ugly head. The thought of lack of breath strangled me…

Finally when the muscles in my torso loosened adequately to inhale a modicum of air, I was greeted back to reality with a leather boot to the stomach. Immediately I let out a grunt and instinctively brought my knees to my chest. The enraged Orc made another growl and kicked me again in the side, then in the face. White-hot pain shot through my body and I lifted my hands to protect my head.

It took me awhile to learn that the onslaught had stopped. As my senses crept back into my head I heard a couple of the Orcs yelling. Their voices were raised and aggressive. One was much louder than the other and sounded very angry while the other was defiant.

Seeing my chance, I slowly and quietly rolled onto my stomach and pushed my hands in front of me. I reached out and pulled on the ground with my arms, dragging myself away from the enraged outsiders. Where was everybody? Everyone in the village knew me… Why didn't they lend aide?

I didn't get very far. A large boot on the small of my back hindered my escape and knocked the wind out of me for the hundredth time that day. Suddenly a hand tore me up from the ground by my wrist. They took my other hand and bound them together behind my back. The pain made me wince.

Again I was thrown over the shoulder of the large Orc with a considerable amount of roughness. The bag still veiled my eyes from the events that surrounded me. They resumed walking, while I resumed bouncing.

—

It seemed like an eternity before my courier finally tossed me onto the ground and tore the bag off my head.

The first thing I saw was the grimace of a brown-skinned Orc and his eyes drilling a hole into mine. He and I both jumped back in alarm, the later more so. Immediately he regained his composure and scoffed. At whom I wasn't sure. I backed up into something hard and pain surged through my back.

I looked up and saw a towering wall of rock that stretched into the night sky. The peak disappeared into the blackness with several similar peaks. Stars. That's what father called them. Thousands of stars filled the endless abyss overhead as if the Ancestors themselves held torches to guide us through the night. I didn't notice my jaw hanging.

The sound of a pile of branches and wood hitting the ground awoke me from my stupor. A large Orc who carried me had placed a pile of kindling on the ground. Leaves, twigs, dried grass, and some moss was placed on the ground inside a ring of small stones. The leader of the group was barking an order to a skinnier Orc and he sprinted over the hill, into the darkness.

My eyes rested on the one who could command these brutes with such ease. Was he the one who rescued me from the beating earlier? If we only spoke the same language, I could ask and thank him. The symbol on his chest resembled the emblem of our clan: a black flaming skull emblazoned on an eight-pointed star. This one was a black skull that was depicted as… laughing. Were they friendly? The big one sure wasn't, I thought, he was just a big bully.

He went over to an older looking Orc. This one was dressed in dark brown robes that were similar to the priests' that worked in the courtyard under father's supervision. In his hand rested a wooden staff with different colored feathers on it. His eyes seemed to idly stare out into the distance, yet he still listened to what the leader was saying. Strange… The leader appeared to be speaking to the older Orc with courtesy and respect. Was this his father?

The elderly Orc nodded at the leader and slowly hobbled over to where the kindling was. By now the large Orc had returned and was setting more wood on top of the pile. Lifting up his staff high above his head, the robed Orc took in a long breath and then exhaled deeply. He whispered faintly to an unseen listener, who apparently replied with a voice only he could hear.

He smote the ground with his staff with a grunt. A flash of light and a gust of wind erupted from it, blinding me. All five of the feathers leaped up, and only four descended to their place. One red feather stood, vibrating violently, empowered by a fierce spirit. The elder Orc's eyes were closed and his face reflected great concentration. Finally with a cry, he brought the end of the staff onto the pile of wood. A raging inferno exploded from the end of the staff and consumed the branches. Flames ascended thirty feet high and fell as fast as they grew. The startled Orc who was putting down wood flew backwards and then growled at the other Orc. I stared in awe while the other Orcs started laughing at the one who all but burned to a crisp. He stood up cockily, brushed the dirt from his tunic, and snarled sourly.

A whistle to our right caught our attention. The one, who left earlier, the skinny one, had returned with a large Talbuk hanging over his shoulder. He was grinning like a child accomplished something worthy of praise from their parents. Walking up, he tossed the Talbuk next to the fire. The leader of the group strode up and clasped him on the shoulder, grinned, and handed him a long knife. He gestured to the slain animal, whose hooves were sprawled out, and the Orc let out a sigh and got began cleaning it.

Not wanting to watch the gruesome mauling of the creature, I replaced my vision with the side of the mountain. I stared at the stone and picked at it with my fingernail.

The realization of loneliness descended upon me. A shadow fell over my mind as I contemplated my situation. Something had happened to father; otherwise he wouldn't have allowed these outsiders to steal his only son. He would have taken up his staff and blade and battled the intruders to the death in my defense… wouldn't he? Movement behind me shattered my train of thought.

Quickly rolling to my opposite side in startlement, my eyes landed on one of the outsiders standing above me. It was the leader. His massive frame towered above my own, creating a massive shadow from the firelight that wrapped itself around me. The Orc simply stared at me with emotionless eyes and calm composure. Finally he eased himself down and sat in front of me.

"Lok'tar" he said, then lifting one large, brown, clawed finger up to his torso, "Grall."

I titled my head in confusion and wrinkled my brow. Lok'tar? Grall? The Orc frowned and then slammed his fist on his chest.

"Grall!" he said and then pointed at me, "Dal malgek kel?"

After a few seconds of pondering it occurred to me that he was asking what my name was. It was not yet time for my appointed Naming Day. In our clan, when a child had seen four winters, he or she was to be given a name. I had one winter to go; now I wasn't sure if I would witness it. Would I pass on to the Ancestors nameless?

"I have no name." I finally said, and the Orc named Grall made a frustrated sigh.

It was now I realized that Grall held a wooden plate with a piece of meat on it. He set it in front of me and said something in his tongue. The Orc gestured at the food and at me. A gift.

Slowly I reached out for the chunk of meat and gripped it in my hand. It was warm, freshly cooked and cooled. I sniffed it for a moment and recognized the scent as seasoned Talbuk. A carnivorous instinct latched onto me and I realized how hungry I was. Like a lion cub I dove into the meat, tearing apart fibers and proteins. A dribble of blood flowed down my chin and onto my hand. I licked it clean. Grall chuckled at my poor display of table manners and handed me a half-full water skin. Of that I drank heavily until only about a fifth was left. I handed the skin back to him and nodded in thanks. He nodded back and handed me a wool blanket. The skin was still attached to the animal's fur, but was neatly cleaned and dried.

Grall stood up and walked back to the fire, leaving me alone in the shadows. The ground around me, everywhere I looked, seemed to reflect a blue hue. I thought nothing of it and wrapped myself in the blanket the Orc gave me. My eyes grew heavy and I watched as my eyelids began to slowly fall.

So tired…

So alone…

—

Was it only a dream?

In my hand rested one of my favorite toys. It was a mountain cougar carved from a black stone. The cougar's front left paw was lifted up and its head titled upward. I lifted my eyes upward and saw my mother at the stove. She was wearing a black apron. The familiar scent of roasted Talbuk filled my nostrils.

"Did you have a nice nap, my son?" she said in her soft, loving voice, "Today is your Naming Day. When your father returns from the evening ceremony, we will decide on your name. As tradition, it will mirror your father's."

It was a dream! I leapt up from the wool covered floor and ran to my mother. As I wrapped my small arms around her waist and embraced her, I told her of the horrible dream I had from the moment father had burst into the room to Grall giving me a plate of Talbuk. She rested her hand on my head.

"It was only a dream, my son. I will never leave you…" she said. "You may tell your father about it when he gets home, he might want to listen to it. No doubt he will believe it is a vision of sorts. Oh, here he is now!"

The door flew open and tore off its hinges with a tremendous snap. It crashed on the other side of the room. As soon as a whipped my head around to see the shattered door, a powerful gale of wind burst through the naked door frame and tossed me like it had the door. I landed next to the broken piece of wood.

I looked up and saw a dark fog slowly creep into the room. Following the smoke were several black semi-corporeal tentacles that slithered along the walls and floor. A low growl resonated from the darkness, the same darkness that was slowly taking over my home, beyond the doorway.

My eyes sought out my mother. She stood by the stove, completely unaware of the events around her. As the living fog began to wrap around her ankles, she untied her apron and tossed it on a chair. Still oblivious to the evil outside, she turned around and casually walked out the door. I cried out to her, but it fell on deaf ears. My efforts were futile.

The whole building shook violently. A great shattering sound echoed throughout the halls. It was followed by a fierce guttural roar that tore into my eardrums. I gripped my ears with my hands and fell onto my knees from the powerful decibels. Gazing up at the ceiling I noticed my surroundings begin to change. The very materials of my home disintegrate before my eyes. Stones, mortar, wooden planks… Everything simply shattered into a thousand pieces, broke apart, and were scattered into the maelstrom like sand.

All around me the mountains suffered the same fate as the temple, as if some deity was erasing what it created and starting from scratch. I heard the muffled and silenced screams of the villagers as they were ripped apart by the unmaking wind. It showed no discrimination. I ran.

My legs felt heavy and numb, like I was running through water, as I attempted to outrun my fate. A voice echoed around me, or perhaps within me, whispering dark words of hatred, malice, and terror.

_They are coming for you…_

"Who's coming for me? Mother? Father?" I thought.

_There is no escape… not in this life… not in the next…_

"W-who are you?"

_Yes… Give into your fear. Hope is an illusion… Trust is your weakness…_

"Get out of my head!" I cried.

As I attempted to block out the being who was delving into my mind, I did not notice that I had run out of steps. Before me was a massive canyon. Looking down into the abyss I saw utter and complete darkness – the origin of the fog and tentacles. Deep into the living shadow I saw the outlining of a great maw, no, _numerous _maws. Each was covered in a thick layer of saliva and black mucus. There was one large serpent-like mouth with many smaller maws above it where the eyes of the creature would reside. Enormous reptilian tentacles slid along the walls of the canyon. Layer upon layer of razor sharp, dagger-like, turquoise, metallic teeth lined each of the mouths, of each emitted a terrible deafening shriek that caused the walls of the canyon to tremble. The very fabric of the world shook at his voice.

_You resist… You cling to life as if it actually matters… You will learn…_

It was true… Life was only a stage of the true path. Father said that death was not an end, but a transformation from our weak shell to something greater… more powerful. This was the foundation of our ways.

"Who are you? What have you done with mother?" I asked, staring into the abyss.

_I am Death. I am Chaos. I am Darkness. I am the shadow within your soul, the rot in your heart, the fire of your passion…_

"I am confused…"

_You will be alone in the end… All that you know will fade…_

"Alone?"

_They are coming for you…_

"Who is coming for me?"

_Kill them all… before they kill you…_

"Kill me?"

_It is standing right behind you… Do not move… Do not breathe…_

My eyes went wide and every fiber in my being went stiff. Trying to decipher this creature's riddles left my guard down and I did not notice the air become deathly cold. The only thing that I felt was the clacking of my knees. The only thing I heard was the dark laugh that echoed behind me.

Slowly… Slowly I turned around, pivoting on my left heel. An army of living shadows stood before me. Hundreds of them, as far as the eye could see, simply stood there watching me. They looked like jackals, or lions, but they stood on their hind legs as would an Orc. A black flame wrapped around their mangy flesh, skin, and fur. Black plate covered them from paw to neck and in their "hands" rested great scimitars, shields, spears, and broadswords. They snarled and growled at everything, including me.

There were other creatures scattered among the jackal beings. Some resembled great vultures and birds of prey, but stood on two muscular taloned legs. Their toned arms doubled as dark feathered wings. Clenched in the beasts' clawed hands were javelins crafted from a dark metallic matter. Several similar weapons rested in a sack on their backside. Others wielded bow and quiver. Sickly squawks crowed from their black beaks. Glowing red eyes glared at me, unblinking.

Shades, born and made from suffering, sorrow, hatred, and rage, shifted through the crowd. They simultaneously remained chained to the earth and bore the ability to lash out like a nightmare at their foes. Long arms, with enormous claws protruding from them, dangled at the sides of their shimmering black bodies.

The same laugh emitted from somewhere in the crowd and all other sounds ceased. Like the obedient servants they were, the jackal creatures gave way and allowed their master passage to their prey. He was very different from his minions, though still very much the same.

A being of shadow, malice, and cruelty stood but only sixty yards from my location. He towered in height and stature compared to the other creatures, though perhaps it was because he hovered a foot off of the ground. The being was more slender than an Orc or Draenei, but much greater in height. His head, featureless other than two glowing purple orbs for eyes, was thin and narrow. His entire body was covered in darkness; a living shadow. In his strong yet lean hands rested two sabers in a reverse grip. They glowed with a phantasmal purple hue. Two oily black, feathered wings, each thirty feet in span, spread out from him.

"Your destiny lies with me…" he said.

I blinked. His blade rested on my throat. We both floated over the chasm. He flew by his wings, and I by his hand.

A deafening roar shattered the world.

—

My eyes snapped open. The vision before me was that of a wall of stone. An aching pain gnawed on my side. After a moment's thought I concluded it to be a rock. Cold sweat coated my arms, forehead, and torso despite the night being quite cool. Images of destruction flashed across my mind's eye. Darkness, evil, the cold and emotionless face of a winged creature, and an army of living shadows slowly slipped into the recesses of my memory.

A dream… or perhaps a vision?

A deep bestial roar fully awoke me from my slumber. The shock wave from the thunderous resonance caused me to leap from where I lay and pushed my back against the wall. My vision blurred from the rapid movement and from the illumination of the camp fire. From the distorted figures that danced before my eyes, I was able to distinguish the shapes of the outsiders who kidnapped me. However, there was one massive shape that towered above the others. Several raised voices overlapped within my ears, adding to my confusion.

As my eyes adjusted to my surroundings, the shapeless blobs began to take more definite form. The Orcs scurried around the campsite, wielding large axes, spears, and even shields. They were not the focal point of my attention, however. An enormous hideous creature stood a short distance from the flames. It towered two to three times the stature of the Orcs. Broad, monstrous arms clenched a spiked mal and adamantite axe. Each of the weapons was comparable to the great-axes most Orcs handled, which occupied both of the wielder's hands. The brute's body was pale as the moon with red markings painted across the rolls of skin and fat. Only a simple loincloth shielded our eyes from the horrors that lie beneath. A solitary eye, gargantuan and wide, sat in the center of its forehead. Dagger-like teeth jutted out from its mouth as it thundered a fierce roar.

Our eyes locked.

The Ogre grinned wickedly.

I whimpered.

The giant took a step and lumbered in my direction, weapons clenched in its hands. Ill intent illuminated from the monster's viscous teeth and sadistic scowl. With a cry of rage the Ogre pounded its chest like an ape and charged at me. I raised my arms above my head and clamped my eyes shut, and thus did not notice a shadow fall upon me.

When the stampede halted, I opened my eyes to see the back of an Orc in front of me. His feet were planted on the ground like two anchors. He gripped in his hands a mighty great-axe with symbols carved on the blade and shaft. Vulture feathers clung to the top.

Grall.

If I was able to witness the front of his face, the image would be of the courageous Grall standing between me, a small boy not even half his size, and the violent Ogre. He was more than twice his size. The face of my rescuer was distorted and seething with outrage toward the creature that was determined to claim my life. His eyes burned with a primal fury. Finally Grall lifted each foot, stomped them on the ground, tightened the grip on his axe, and opened his jaw impossibly wide. The mouth of the warrior released an earsplitting, deafening battle cry, which shook the very foundation of the adjacent mountain. It was so powerful that even the Ogre stumbled back in dismay from the enraged Orc.

The roar lasted for several seconds, but instead of diffusing the blood frenzy within the Orc, it only empowered it into a violent inferno. Grall launched himself at the beast, axe lifted up high for a swift death blow to the skull or neck. He flew into the air with both grace and ferocity. An unlikely combination. Just in time to save his head from being sundered in two, the Ogre recovered from the both demoralizing and dominating roar and raised his weapons to deflect the incoming blow.

He succeeded in defending himself, but the failed attempt at slaughtering the Ogre further fueled Grall's onslaught. Using the momentum of his first blow, he landed on the ground and swung the axe counter-clockwise; ending with an upward slash to the left. His foe likewise blocked it with his own axe and growled at the man. Without missing a beat, the Orc utilized the reaction force of the block to swing the axe back around and cleave into the wrist of the unsuspecting Ogre. The blade sunk through flesh and cut into bone and caused the brute to howl in pain.

Grall now had the upper hand. He tore the axe from the now crippled Ogre's hand. Dark blood surged from the wound. The weapon then slammed into the jaw of the monster, dazing him momentarily. After throwing the weight of the weapon behind his head, the Orc dove feet first between the Ogre's legs, sliding on the now wet grass. The blade of the axe bit into the creature's left calf, creating a new waterfall that poured onto the ground. The Ogre collapsed onto the knee of the same leg.

The warrior now crouched behind his opponent, blooded axe in hand, and took a spell to admire the agony and humiliation he just caused the being that, only a moment ago, was a towering and intimidating behemoth. With a fierce cry, still hungery for more carnage, Grall leapt into the air, axe reared back.

I closed my eyes, and felt the splatter of blood on my legs. A thud marked the demise of my assailant.

I opened my eyes to reveal Grall, the mighty warrior, my savior, standing over the beheaded and mutilated body of the Ogre. Dark blood pooled and stained the grass from the monster's three wounds. The victor's chest rose and fell in exhaustion. His axe rested on the ground, satisfied and dripping with gore. He turned his head and his eyes locked with mine. His inquired my well-being, while mine replied with gratitude.

He tilted his face towards the heavens and uttered a roar of both victory and challenge. Each of the other men chanted his name in admiration of his strength, courage, and victory.

"…Grall! Grall! Grall! Grall! Grall! ..." they cried.

Once the cheering died, the Orcs began cleaning up the camp and carnage from the battle. The Shaman asked the earth to take in the spilled blood, the body was dragged a good distance from the camp, and order was established again. Once the chaos was harnessed, the men went back to sleep.

I did not close my eyes, for the twisted face of the winged being of shadow, with his blade at my throat, was imprinted on the back of my eyelids. The words of the creature in the chasm echoed in my mind.

_All that you know will fade…_

_

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_There's chapter two. Remember to press the review button and tell me what you think and how I can make this story even better for your entertainment!_  
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